The Vampires Student Part IV:Trials of Death
by The Vampires Student
Summary: Gillian escaped Vampire Mountain, in her luggage a parchment, that might lift the secret of the Shadowdancers . But before she will be forced to give a number of promises, and for their compliance she will have to pay a high price ...
1. Chapter 1: Whiskey

The Vampires Student Part IV: 

"Trials of Death"

Chapter 1: "Whiskey"

It was a strange feeling to come back.  
Gillian was standing in front of the large city house, and hesitated to go up the stairs to the entrance.  
There was a small light on behind the windows of the ground floor, so he was at home.  
What will he say when she appears so unexpectedly at his doorstep? After she had ran away without an explanation, gone without any message for months?  
Gillian took up all her courage and climbed the stairs to the front door.  
She rang the bell, and got sweaty palms when she heard shuffling footsteps in the hallway.  
The door was opened and the light fell on the steps outside, cut a square into the night, where Gillian stood and smiled at the old man, who looked surprised at his late visitor.  
"My God, Gillian," said the old man and put his hand to his heart.  
"Good evening, Professor," Gillian muttered a little embarrassed.  
"Jeez. Do you know what time it is ... ?" The old man ran his fingers through his tousled white hair and adjusted his old brown velvet bathrobe that he wore over plaid pajamas. He had probably been fallen asleep in his chair again.  
"I'm sorry," said Gillian. "I just did not know where to go."  
The professor shook his head, and without another word he shuffled through the hallway into the kitchen. The front door he left open.  
Gillian entered the house, and pushed the door gently close behind her.  
In the hall she put down her backpack and took off her coat. When she hung it in the wardrobe, she was satisfied to see that apart from the jacket of the professor, no further coats were hanging there. So there was no other guest except her.  
She closed her eyes and breathed in. The house smelled familiar. Gillian had long lived here.  
She heard the professor made himself busy in the kitchen and followed him into the large modern room, where he just prepared two glasses from the cupboard and took out a bottle of whiskey from the well-stocked minibar.  
"Not for me, you know that."  
The old mans gray eyes looked at the young woman's. "And as always, I ask you to sham drinking, so this old man does not have the feeling of drinking alone."  
Gillian smiled, and the professor took up the whiskey bottle. He had problems to open the closure, so Gillian went to the dresser. "Let me do it."  
She took the bottle from his hand and poured some of the golden liquid in two glasses.  
Then she handed him the glass.  
The professor saw Gillian's melancholy expression, as he took the glass from her, but he did not say something. He knew this expression on her. She thought of something - or someone-from her past. Someone to whom she had often poured out, too.  
He raised his glass to her, but he had to cough before he could take a sip.  
Gillian had also raised her glass, but watched him now with worries, as he turned away, putting down the glass coughing hardly. He shuffled over to the living room, and Gillian followed him, with two glasses in her hand.  
In the living room only a small shaded lamp burned beside the sofa on which the professor lay down now, next to the fireplace.  
"Your coughing has gotten worse," she said, when he had stopped making a rattling noise while breathing.  
"Oh, come on, that's nothing!" He waved off testily, and held out his hand impatiently.  
Gillian pressed the whiskey in his hand, and he immediately took a sip.  
He sighed and leaned back into the sofa.  
He pulled a blanket over his legs, and Gillian helped him.  
Then she sat down opposite him in a chair.  
He looked at his long-lost student. Even though his eyes were no longer the best, he saw that she had worries.  
He sighed. "I suppose it's no use asking why you had disappeared in the night and fog, and where you have been all the time."  
Gillian shook her head.  
"And still I suppose that you will not tell me the truth if I ask you, what you have done during the recent months."  
His student winced. "I'm sorry, Professor, I can`t."  
He just nodded. "I thought that."  
He took a sip of whiskey, which fiery ran down his throat.  
"Well, can you at least tell me then, why you are here again?" He looked at the golden liquid in his glass.  
Amused, he realized that he had brought the young woman in a quandary. "Gillian. I'm not so stupid to believe you'd be here, because you were longing for me. So. Out with it. What can I do for you?"  
Gillian was chewing on her bottom lip. Then she grinned. She could not fool him anyway.  
With throbbing heart, she reached under her sweater and pulled out a roll of parchment, which she had worn a long long way with her up to here.  
She leaned forward and handed the professor the brittle parchment, and her hair fell like a curtain over her face.  
The professor stretched out his hand surprised and took the scroll.  
He examined it, and Gillian got aware now that the parchment was in poor condition, and that it was no a suitable place of storage to stuff it under her clothes.  
But she had always wanted to feel it safe and close to her. She could not risk to keep the scroll in any bag. It was far too precious.  
And a too high price had been paid for it.  
"Gillian," asked the professor perplexed. "What is this?"  
With pride and excitement in her voice, Gillian said: "That's why I was gone. I have learned of the existence of this document. I hope it contains something that will help me."  
"The Queen?", he said now excited as well.  
Gillian nodded: "Yes."  
The professor looked at the old paper. "Is this veritable?"  
"Yes, it is authentic."  
"Gillian," gasped the professor. "I don´t know where you got this from, and I do not even want to know. But this document is far too precious to be carried around!"  
Gillian moved impatiently. "Read it!"  
The professor refused. Touching it only with his fingertips he gave the scroll back to her. "First you will make a copy," he demanded. "And the you will put the original into the safe."  
Grumbling, she grabbed the parchment and did as she has been told.  
When she came back into the living room, the professor was asleep.  
She could not blame him, it was five clock in the morning.  
She gently shook him by the shoulder and he opened his sleepy watery eyes.  
"Please, Professor. Read, "Gillian said softly, and handed him the copy.  
The professor took his reading glasses, which were lying on a table under the lamp next to a pile of books. Awkwardly, he put them on and then unrolled the parchment.  
His gray eyes flitted over the font in black ink and Gillian fidgeted in her chair. She watched every movement in the wrinkle -crossed face. Then he looked over the rim of his glasses at her.  
"And?" Said Gillian applied. "What does it say?"  
"It's Latin, Gillian." The professor smiled.  
"So what? That's not a problem for you," Gillian called out impatiently.  
"No, not for me," the professor said and chuckled. "But I'm wondering why it is for you."  
Gillian's eyes narrowed. "You know, Latin is not really my strength."  
"Not my strength," snorted the professor. "But it should!"  
"Oh, come on!" Said Gillian.  
The old man picked up a book from the pile under the lamp and threw it to her lap.  
Gillian stared at the book.  
It was a Latin dictionary.  
"But," protested Gillian, "This is going to take weeks for me!"  
The professor smiled.  
Panting, he rose from the sofa.  
"Your room is still untouched," he said. "You know, where you can find everything you might need."  
He winked at her, and climbed the stairs to the upper floor.  
Gillian stared at the sheet of paper in her hand.  
This old sly fox, she thought.  
Now I'll have to stay with him for a while.


	2. Chapter 2:Latin

Chapter 2: "Latin"

Gillian did something, that she never thought, she would do it again.  
She returned to the university.  
Strictly speaking she still was a officially registered student. She had never been expelled or signed out, she had just gone in the middle of the semester, without any interest what the professors or the dean would say of it. She finally had gone back to the Cirque du Freak to go on a journey along with her teacher Larten Crepsley and Darren Shan to Vampire Mountain in order to be introduced to the vampire Princes. She had not dreamed, ever to return to the university.  
But the vampire Princes had sentenced her to death, and Gillian had not received the permission to search in the library for their legends about the shadowdancers. On her run she had just been able to steal a piece of parchment that Gavner Purl, a Grand Vampire and Larten Crepsleys best friend, had picked out for her, because he believed that it could have some information about the shadowdancers.  
Gillian did not know if Gavner Purl had read the document himself. Could the old vampire understand Latin? And how had he found the scroll? The library of the Vampires was chaotic and unsorted, it could take years to find something in there.  
Gillian did not know if the parchment actually contained something that she wanted to know.  
But she hoped so, for she had risked a lot to get it. Not only that she had taken the risk of having to take a detour via the library, at the danger of getting captured by the guards. She'd have to kill Arra Sails, too, who had stood in her way.  
Gillian thought grimly back to it.  
She regretted nothing.  
She could not stand Arra Sails, and the fact that she also had provoked her, made it in Gillian's eyes more than justified that she had killed her.  
However, Arras death made her situation not any easier.  
Now it would certainly not be able for her to ever return to the vampires society.  
Not only that she was a prisoner sentenced to death, which had killed several guards on the run. She had also killed the vampiress.  
Determined there was Arras's friends who wanted to avenge her death.  
Gillian did not know if any vampires were after her.  
She doubted it.  
But she should be careful not to stumble upon anyone of them on her way accitently.  
At least until some grass had grown over the matter.  
And then there was Larten Crepsley.  
How might Larten have reacted, when he found out that Gillian has killed his former girlfriend?  
Upon the thought that the two once had had something with each other, Gillian felt downright sick. She again heard the words of Arra, like poison in her soul: "There was a time when Larten followed me everywhere like a little pet dog ..."  
Hate clenched into a dark lump in Gillian's stomach.  
No, I would kill her again if I have the chance, thought Gillian ...

Gillian climbed up the stairs of the atrium in the big building of the university and turned round into a corridor.  
Without knocking, she stormed into a classroom.  
All heads turned to her.  
What are you staring at?, Gillian thought and stomped past the row of chairs to a free place.  
Because still everyone stared at her - including the tutor, a student from a higher semester - Gillian snapped: "Sorry, I'm a little late."  
The tutor, a tanned blond named Titus, who had led the same course previously said: "Certainly. Late for six months. Were not you in my beginner's course last semester, and have not stayed to the end?"  
Gillian glared angrily at him. "Right. Now I climb back on. So what?"  
A girl giggled.  
Titus raised an eyebrow. "Well, because this course has, as well as the entire semester, already started three weeks ago. What has kept you for so long from visiting the campus?"  
Some of the students started giggling and whispering in the back row.  
Gillian looked around irritated. How she hated these arrogant we-know-alls. So she said what came to her mind first:" My little brother Darren had suddenly become very ill."  
Titus looked a little milder. "I see. In dysfunctional families, I will turn a blind eye ... "  
A girl named Angela, that Gillian knew from last year, snorted contemptuously.  
"Nevertheless," continued the tutor, "you have to sign out before you stay away from the course for a long time."  
"Can I join now?"  
He nodded, and handed out some papers.  
Gillian looked at the text and understood nothing.  
She hated Latin. Not only that it was a dead language, and nobody really knew how it was spoken. But the course consisted only of translating and grammar. Translations from Latin was more than code breaking than really translating. In addition, the case was difficult for her, because Gillian had never learned grammar correctly not even in her mother language, because she had attended school irregularly and dropped out early. She could not stand with all the terms like nominative, ablative, gerund and conjugation.  
Tormented Gillian began to look up the words in her dictionary.  
Nevertheless, she needed this course.  
The regular courses all took place during the daylight, and therefore Gillian could not attend them.  
But anyway, she had no interest in any lectures.  
She wanted as quickly as possible to translate the parchment.  
So she attended this intensive Latin course, which fortunately was held in the evenings long after sunset, and after the regular lectures.  
When the course was over, Gillian gathered up her bag and wanted to leave, but was stopped by a few former friends at the door.  
"How's your brother, Darren?" Angela said with a sardonic grin. It was obvious that she did not believed a word of Gillian.  
"Hello, Gillian," said a handsome boy next to her. Christian. He always hang around with Angela, and was one of the guys, who often used to stay at the home of the professor and talked with him all night. Gillian could not help but to talk to them, too. "Hi Angela. Hello Christian. My brother is doing well now. "  
"What is his problem?" Angela grinned.  
Gillian answered coldly: "He is dead."  
The smile drained from Angelas face and her mouth formed into an "Oh".  
Christian looked pityingly at Gillian. "I'm so sorry to hear that. If there is anything I can do for you ... "  
Gillian thought quick. "I could use tutoring in Latin. If you could go through with me what I`ve missed ...? "  
Christian nodded eagerly, "Yes, of course. Tomorrow afternoon? "  
"Rather, in the evening," said Gillian.  
"Do you still live in the Professors house?"  
Gillian nodded.  
"Then at eight? In the atrium? "  
"Cool."  
Angela pulled a face. She disliked that Gillian was back, and got all the attention. She still did not believe that Gillian had really gone because of the funeral of her younger brother. She surely just wanted to make herself important. She did not even believe that Gillian had a little brother at all. Angela saw how the boys of her clique were staring at Gillian, and vied with each other to help her with Latin. Above all, Christian.  
She wrinkled her nose. "Nice clothes," she said, therefore, to Gillian. "Does that top not belong to Vanessa? I would never have thought, that she would lend you clothes ... But well, you do not have much on your own. "  
Gillian looked annoyed to Angela.  
"It may be that it is Vanessa`s. I don`t know. I've found it with the professor. In his bedroom, " added Gillian, and enjoyed the effect of her words. All were silent embarrassment.  
It was true that she had found some clothes in the house, which clearly came from the female students of the professor. Sometimes some stayed in the house over night. About Gillian has been rumored forever, that she had a relationship with the professor, since she lived with him.  
Gillian did not care, she just wanted to be left alone.  
The guys were kind of embarrassed, and Gillian took advantage of the resulting silence to say goodbye.  
"See you tomorrow," said Christian diligently behind her, and Gillian heard how Angela hissed: "Why do you even bother? She`s in to older men. "  
Gillian followed the columnar-lined corridor and went through the heavy oak portal to the outside where it was already dark and in the middle of the night.  
She could not suppress a grin.  
That`s true.  
However, very much older men.  
Something along the line of one hundred fifty to two hundred years.


	3. Chapter 3: Cowardice

Chapter 3: "Cowardice"

Gillian struggled with the translation for weeks.  
Initially she had intended to translate the scroll as fast as possible because she was eager to learn what it says. She thought of asking someone, and if necessary pay for translation.  
But then she hesitated.  
As long as she did not know what was written in it, she could not risk anyone to read it. After all, it came from the library of the vampires, and included knowledge that was not meant for humans.  
Although her professor had already read it. But that was fine. He was a scholar and would assume the content like cultural history and as a legend and rate it mere interestingly.  
In addition, Gillian was not sure if he had really captured what it was saying that night when he had looked over the copy. Even for a professor like him, it was not easy to read Latin fluently.  
Certainly not ancient Latin in an spidery handwriting on old stained parchment.  
Gillian had grudgingly began to translate the text word for word by herself, and only now and then asked Christian or Titus for advice on individual words, and she never shown them more than some lines.  
So it was necessary that she attended an intensive course, and trying to understand the confusing rules of Latin grammar.  
Eventually a rethinking had come over her.  
She wanted to make it all alone.  
Not just this one text.  
If she has to be here anyway, she could take the opportunity, and really learn Latin.  
What does she have to loose?  
She had all the time in the world.  
She was a vampire. And maybe one day it would proof useful to master this ancient language.  
What if she once again will have the opportunity to get an old parchment from the library of the vampires in her hands? She could not always run to her professor.  
Of course, that was exactly what the professor had wanted. That she learned how to do it herself.  
It was a hard lesson, but secretly she was grateful for the old sly fox.  
Secretly, she pulled her hat off to her teacher.

Thus, from weeks to months, Gillian came to terms with her life as a student. Although it was not easy, she constantly had to adjust. Not only that she was sleeping through the days in her room with shut down blinds - the professor had long accepted this as a fad - she also ate very little, stayed out of all the activities organized by other students and of course no one should realize that she drank blood.  
She could not participate in the conversations of her fellow students, either because she did not know the TV shows, movies and pop stars of whom they spoke, or because she did not understand the academic discussions of politics und economy.  
Luckily, the professor had become a maverick. While he had in the past been often surrounded by his students, and had invited them to wild parties or night-long discussions with red wine in his home, he now invited no one anymore, and wanted no one around him except Gillian.  
That was fine for Gillian, she was happy to keep company with the old man, who became increasingly tired out and more frail with every day.  
His coughing had become even worse.  
But the old man steadfastly refused to consult a doctor, and reassured Gillian that it was nothing serious.  
Gillian believed him. She wanted to believe him. She did not want all this to end. She was afraid of what would come after.

But eventually the day came when she could not even pretend any more.  
She had translated the scroll.  
For a long time.  
She could not forever continue to pretend, as if she must still find a particular word, revise a difficult sentence.  
It would not change anything.  
She now knew the contents.  
And it was time to leave.  
She had been delaying it, but now it was time to move on.  
Even if she was so much afraid, of what she had to do next.

Gillian grabbed her backpack, packed with little more than that with which she had arrived. Everything else she had left neatly in her closet. The papers with the translations she had destroyed, all but one copy, and she was carrying that one under her clothes. Even though it was not necessary. She knew the words by heart now.  
Gillian smoothed her blankets, put out the light, pulled the door to the room, which has long been home to her, quietly close behind her and tiptoed to the stairs.  
She lurked away again.  
She had long thought about what she should say to the professor.  
She could not tell him where she will go, and she was tired of lying to him.  
But finally, she did again what she did best: slip cowardly away without a word.  
She gulped.  
She knew that he did not deserve this, after all he had done for her.  
But she could not help it.  
As she carefully put one foot on the top step, she was very ashamed and her heart beat to her throat.  
"Will you not say goodbye?"  
Gillian started.  
There was the professor in his beloved old dressing gown at the entrance to his office. There were no lights on, that`s why she had not noticed him. She had assumed that he had already been asleep.  
What was he doing up here in the dark?  
"How did you know ...?"  
He put his hands in his pockets and looked down sadly. "I expect for quite a while that you will leave. I was just hoping you'd say goodbye this time. "  
Gillian swallowed: "Professor ... I ... I've never learned how to do that."  
He looked at her: "Then you will learn it now." And he turned and went into the dark office sat down behind his desk and turned on the light.  
He sat down in the massive leather chair, and Gillian followed him ashamed in his sanctuary.  
She had not been here often. The professor lived here between leather-bound books and stacks of documents and newspapers.  
This is how a library must look like, thought Gillian, as she approached the massive desk and obeyed the invitation to sit down.  
He had his hands folded on the table and looked at Gillian through his gray eyes. Then he asked: "So, you are leaving?"  
Gillian nodded without looking at him.  
"And you do not want to tell me where?"  
"I'm so sorry, professor. But I can not. "  
He sighed. "Gillian. I can not stop you. But I wish you'd tell me, what kind of trouble you're in. I can help you. "  
Gillian shook her head sadly and struggled then a smile. "I am in no trouble."  
The old man smiled cynically. "My eyes are indeed bad, but I'm not blind."  
He leaned forward and said emphatically: "Gillian. Tell me what is depressing you. Is someone after you? Is it because of drugs? "  
Gillian laughed softly.  
"I have money. And influence. Gillian, tell me how I can help you. "  
The vampiress felt like she got tears in her eyes. "You have done enough for me."  
Both were silent.  
Then suddenly he stretched out his hand in a demanding manner: "Come. Show it to me. "  
"What?" Gillian asked blankly.  
"The Translation."  
Surprised, she looked at him.  
Then she dug into her pockets and pulled out the piece of paper.  
The Professor folded the sheet apart clearing his throat, put on his reading glasses and began to look through the text.  
When he actually took a red pen and marked an error, Gillian had to wipe her sweaty hands on her trousers.  
She was nervous, like before an exam.  
Should she speak to him about the contents, or not?  
This was probably the last opportunity to do so.  
Finally, he took off his glasses, and handed her the paper back.  
He smirked. "I would not give it more than a B."  
Gillian stood open-mouthed. She looked at the sheet. There were many red marked words. "But ...", she wanted to protest.  
"But when I consider, that a few months ago you could not distinguish the ablative from the genitive, then that's a good job."  
Gillian was speechless.  
He did not take her seriously.  
As if he had all the time in the world the professor conjured up a bottle of whiskey from the depths of his desk and generously gave into two glasses.  
Gillian stared at the paper and tried to understand whether she had made serious errors in the translation or not.  
Whether she had understood something important wrong.  
But it did not look like.  
The content remained the same.  
"So. What kind of a text is this, and where did you get it?" He asked, taking a sip of whiskey.  
"I can not tell you where I have it from. But it is, if I understand correctly, an eyewitness report. An eye witness who has seen how the last of the shadowdancers was killed. "  
"The shadowdancers were the priests of the Queen of Air and Darkness, if I remember correctly."  
Gillian nodded: "Her followers, yes. You could say they were like priests. "  
The professor put his hands together: "An eye-witness report is always interesting. But as long as you can not prove your sources, you can not use this document for your work. So it's practically worthless for you. "  
Worthless? No way, thought Gillian.  
"Have you noticed that there is the speech of a grave?"  
The professor sat back in his chair. "I see where that leads to. But there are no details as to where the grave is located. And you're not an archaeologist. "  
Gillian grinned. She was not an archaeologist. And it was true, there was no mention of where the grave was located.  
But something else was mentioned.  
A name.  
"Gillian, I know that my influence on you is low. You always done the opposite of what you're told. But just this once, I beg you, listen to me. "  
Gillian frowned. She felt miserable. She could possibly not do whatever he wanted from her.  
"Come back one more time, Gillian. Please. "  
Surprised, she looked at him.  
"Promise me."  
The vampiress had to swallow.  
She had not expected that. She looked at the old man with his shaggy white hair and his watery gray eyes, and smiled.  
She nodded.  
"I promise."


	4. Chapter 4: Earth

Chapter 4: "Earth"

The cemetery was a bit outside of the city. It was surrounded by meadows and small hills, and was ideal for her purpose.  
Nobody would come here at night, and the staff working at the cemetery was long gone home, too.  
Gillian sat on the socket of an statue of an angel not far away from a fresh grave that had recently been filled with earth, and watched her sourrounding.  
Tonight he would come for sure.  
The smell of fresh earth and wilting lilies came with the night breeze and Gillian stroke some hair from her face.  
Don`t become impatient, she told herself, and shut her eyes for a moment. She concentrated on deepening the shadows around that angel statue, so she was not seen. It was quite difficult and she noticed frustrated, that she had to focus continuously to the veil of night that surrounded her, to maintain it.  
At Vampire Mountain it had been much easier. There, the shadows had been deep and strong and nearly ... intelligent.  
In a split of a second she had been able to delete every light, clench all darkness around her, send out deepest blackness, and even been able to send tentacles of smoky shadows against her opponents. In Vampire Mountain her skills as a shadowdancer had been stronger than ever.  
The shadows even had burned the guards at her command, as if sunlight. They had responded within seconds to react on a single thought of Gillian. As if the darkness was an independent-thinking creature, that obeyed Gillians commands.  
It was all gone now.  
Outside Vampire Mountain, it was "normal" darkness that Gillian had to gather around her, and that was tedious and tiring, and costing her much concentration.  
Gillian was frustrated. She felt again like being a member of the Cirque du Freak, and secretly rehearsing as Larten Crepsleys assistant behind his tent, but never becoming good enough for being allowed to perform on stage.  
She hated it to feel so inadequate again. After finishing off several opponents, who had been better trained and more stronger than her, with a shrug, she did not want to feel like a beginner again.  
Gillian pondered much on why her power was apparently becoming weaker.  
She had not been able to form a shadow whip, since her last battle with the green-clad guards at the exit of the palace of the vampires.  
Maybe it was because she had been in deadly danger at that time?  
Because she had to fight for her life?  
Like during the fight with Murlough, when she had conjured up shadows, burning like sunlight, for the very first time. Without knowing what she was doing.  
Maybe I need real danger, thought Gillian, and sighed. The old game. She needed adrenaline in her blood to feel really alive.  
A noise made her jolt out of her thoughts.  
Gillian stared into the darkness and listened tense.  
There she heard it again.  
A soft shuffle of someone crawling close to the ground towards the fresh grave.  
Finally.  
Gillian's heart began to pound.  
Silently she let slip from the socket, and ducked behind a large stone grave, as if she were liquid smoke.  
The creature had crawled on all fours and when Gillian risked a glance from behind her cover, she could see, that it lifted its head and sniffed the air, like an animal picking up some scent. The creature had a gray, sunken face, the skin was stretched over the skull, like a corpse. In the sunken eyes glowed a red light. While it sniffed, it pulled back the thin lips and sharp canine teeth became visible.  
Gillian held her breath and prayed that it could not pick up her smell.  
But the wind was blowing in the opposite direction, and the creature dropped his head and began to sniff with his nose close on the ground over the freshly piled earth.  
Then it began to dig with claw-like hands, so that lumps of black damp earth flew behind it.  
Gillian broke away from the grave and sneaked closer at the creature, which focused on digging and did not notice her.  
Gillian took her dagger from her boot shaft. The metal flashed softly in the moonlight.  
The vampiress approached the back of the creature, the dagger ready.  
Then a lump of earth flew at Gillian and hit her in the face. Crumbs fell into her eyes and she winced. Instinctively, she raised her hand with the dagger and ran her hand over her eyes.  
She probably had given a surprised noise, for the man turned around and gave a snarl on his own.  
Quick as a flash Gillian jumped at him, although she still had to squint one eye.  
The creature rolled over and Gillian's attack came to nothing, but she seized on him immediately.  
The man drew himself up to his full height and attacked with his claws, hissing through the air.  
Gillian ducked under his arm and slammed her shoulder into his chest.  
She was strong, but the man was stronger. She was not able to tackle him, he just staggered back a few steps.  
Gillian danced sideways, and the red eyes followed her every movements.  
Gillian again wiped her eyes with her sleeve and removed the last crumps of earth. The man observed her, and seemed to consider whether he should flee or not. Which Gillian absolutely wanted to prevent.  
She growled to distract him, and then did flitt quite a distance behind a grave stone.  
Confused, the creature looked around, looked frantically in all directions, trying to figure out where the assailant was gone.  
Gillian tried to calm her breathing.  
The attack had failed, she had hoped to surprise him and immediately put the dagger at his throat thus to avoid a real fight. But she had messed up the opportunity.  
Now she had no choice but to go in a real fight, or flee.  
A fight was risky, the enemy was strong.  
And starved.  
The danger accelerated her heart beat and a familiar tingling in her stomach stopped all thoughts.  
She would not give up that fast.  
Not after she had spent months of tracking down a Vampaneze. Not after she had traveled from city to city, visiting cemeteries, slaughter houses, blood banks and homeless shelters looking, searching for a clue, that a Vampaneze had feed there. She had listened to news in the media of unsolved deaths and for stories of patients in hospitals with unexplainable blood loss. But she had encountered no Vampaneze, even if she sometimes had had the feeling that she only had missed one by a whisker.  
Then finally, two weeks ago, she had met on evidence that someone had been desecrated fresh graves, in this city, in this cemetery.  
Gillian had immediately travelled here, but found no trace of a Vampaneze.  
She had to wait until the next funeral was held.  
And now it was time.  
She would not loose her first chance in months, just because she had not been able to take the Vampaneze by surprise.  
She waited until her enemy turned his back on her, then stormed out of her hiding.  
His senses warned him, and he spun around, but Gillian was too quick.  
She nudged him with her left hand in front of his chest, and put all her strength in this blow.  
The creature had just been about to turn over to her, he had no chance to keep his balance, and flew to the ground.  
Gillian rushed at him, the dagger was lying close on her right forearm.  
She nailed the man with her left knee to the ground and put her right forearm with the flashing blade against his throat.  
The red eyes looked up at her in horror.  
A smell of mould hit her nostrils. "Don`t move, Vampaneze! Or I am moving the dagger!", she hissed.  
The Vampaneze froze.  
"All right," he growled, as she made no attempt to kill him, although she could have.  
Gillian's eyes sparkled.  
"I'll let you go now. You will behave. Do not forget, I could have killed you, but I spared your life."  
The Vampaneze snorted, but as Gillian gently took the dagger from his throat, he did not move, he just glared cold at her, so that she slowly increased the pressure on his chest, and rose.  
She stood over him and looked down at him.  
"What do you want, vampire?" Snarled the man. The word vampire he spoke as if it was an insult.  
Gillian spread her arms as a sign that she had peaceful intentions, and the Vampaneze crept a little away from her, and then rose slowly, but threw her suspicious looks.  
Gillian kept her arms spread out in a gesture of peace, even if the knife still gleamed on her forearm.  
"I want you to do something for me," said Gillian.  
"Like what?" Growled the Vampaneze.  
"Take me to your leader," ordered the vampiress.

He barked a laugh. "Stupid vampire. We Vampaneze have no leaders. We are not like you. No one commands me. No man, no God ... "  
"... No prince," finished Gillian the sentence. "I know the phrase."  
She leaned forward and whispered: "But you and I we both know that this is not true."  
Puzzled and suspicious the Vampaneze sunken eyes looked at her.  
Gillian prayed that this was true.  
All she knew she had from Kurda Smahlt. Kurda had told her in long conversations, what he had found out over the years about their misguided brothers, the Vampaneze. Gillian did not know why Kurda had confided to her that much. Some of it he had not even told the princes. She assumed, the handsome vampire Kurda had felt comfortable in the presence of a female vampire who, according to Seba Nile, was the most beautiful female vampire in Vampire Mountain since two hundred years. In any case Kurda had clearly enjoyed her company - and practically told her everything what he had found out about the Vampaneze, while he had lived with them.  
"You may have no princes and you may not hold court about your likes. However, there are assemblings. And there are those among you, the elder and those who have earned your respect. "  
The Vampaneze narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Gillian prayed that it was true what she said.  
"How do you think you know that?" He grunted.  
Gillian smiled. "I just know it. Take me to the elders, "she demanded.  
"And why would I do that?"  
Now this was critical. In fact, she had nothing against him. It might be that she had just spared his life. But nothing stopped him from attacking her again. Or trying to escape.  
Nothing forced him to come to meet her demands.  
But Gillian had worked out an answer.  
"Because I have an offer for them. They will reward you if you lead me to them. "  
He seemed not to believe her.  
"Let's put it this way: if I lie, and my offer is of no value to the elders, then it will not be difficult for them to kill me. I am alone and armed only with a dagger. If the Vampaneze have no interest in me, it is easy for them to destroy me.  
But if it's true what I say, and they will be happy to see me, they will be grateful to you, too. They will reward you. You carry no risk. "  
Gillian could see, that was she had said slowly sunk into the brain of the starving Vampaneze.  
A greedy glint appeared in his red eyes.  
He licked his papery lips.  
"All right. I accept. I will lead you to them. "  
Gillian nodded her head.  
"On one condition."  
She blinked. "What?"  
The Vampaneze grinned. He gestured with a claw on the ground. "I'm hungry. Get to work. "  
Gillian frowned. "Dig your grave yourself."  
The Vampaneze grinned. "Either you will now fetch me my food from the earth, or I will not bring you to the others."  
Gillian glared at him.  
Then she bent down at the fresh grave and started to dig reluctantly with her bare hands in the moist black soil. "Don`t you have a shovel?" She snapped angrily.  
The Vampaneze folded his arms across his chest. "Nope."  
Gillian went on digging with pointed fingers, but could not prevent her dress and her hair from becoming full of earth, when she finally knocked on wood of a fresh coffin.  
The Vampaneze jumped down to her into the now deep pit, when she finally had unearthed the coffin so that he could open it.  
Disgusted Gillian climbed up and watched as the Vampaneze eagerly tore open the lid of the coffin.  
The body of the man inside was several days old and the foul smell of formaldehyde and mold took her breath away.  
"You know, that they deposit their dead in fridges for several days before they bury them?" Said Gillian, who felt sick at the mere thought of drinking that old blood.  
Old blood was like old milk.  
Like curd.  
And it tasted just as disgusting.  
Larten Crepsley had taught her never to drink old blood, it would make you ill. Only in extreme cases her master would have fed from a several-day-old body like this.  
The Vampaneze grinned up at her, and Gillian saw with a shudder as he dug his fangs into the neck of the dead man.  
She turned away and tried to ignore the terrible smacking and slurping noises that came from the Vampaneze down there.  
Instead, she rubbed her hands on the wet grass, and tried at least to get a little dirt and grime from her clothes.  
When the Vampaneze was finished and climbed up to her again, he looked a little better. The skin was no longer stretched quite that badly about his head and his eyes glowed not so scary red in the dark any more.  
Therefore his lips now looked like he had painted them with red lipstick.  
The Vamapneze was amused of her efforts, to get her hands and dress clean again.  
"Why bother? Who goes to the Vampaneze may look like one. "  
Gillian made a face, and the Vampaneze barked a laugh, before he was preparing to leave the cemetery.  
"Stop," said Gillian.  
He looked quizzically over his shoulder.  
Gillian pointed at the open grave. "Will you not close that again?"  
"Nope," he said calmly. "But if you love to dig in the earth that much. Go ahead. I'll wait. "  
Gillian snorted indignantly.  
Then she set about to dig earth on the grave again, and to obliterate all traces.


	5. Chapter 5: Lies

Chapter 5: "Lies"

She followed the Vampaneze to the center of the city.  
Gillian was glad that it was late at night, as she entered the tunnels to the underground in the company of that shabby creature. There were hardly any people in the streets, and the few took no notice of the strange couple who walked past some homeless sleeping on a disused railway station.  
The Vampaneze climbed off the platform onto the tracks and set off into the dark tunnel of a subway line, which was no longer in operation.  
When he stopped in front of a massive fire door, which led sideways out of the tunnel and pushed it open with some effort, Gillian looked stunned into a brightly lit corridor made of concrete walls that looked as if it had been build only recently.  
It led further and further into the depths and looked very modern and unused.  
"Come this way, _vampire_, "chuckled the gaunt Vampaneze and Gillian followed him hesitantly.  
Maybe he lured her into a trap.  
On the other hand, there was no greater trap than going directly to a Vampaneze gathering, while the Old and Important among them were present.  
And her leader had promised her that he knew of a place and a gathering where the most important Vampaneze would be present.  
And that was finally why she had come here.  
Gillian tried to calm down her pounding heart and followed her leader.  
They passed several large thick steel bulkhead doors before they encountered the first Vampaneze.  
Black-clad, ragged figures lurked in the corridors and adjacent rooms and looked up at their arrival and gazed at them with glowing red eyes in the darkness.  
But no one stopped them, as they penetrated deeper and deeper into the bunker.  
Some of them began to follow, and as Gillian and her leader reached a large vault, more and more Vampaneze gathered grinning behind them, waiting curious as to what the vampiress was probably looking for here.  
Her leader seemed to enjoy the attention he got because of his vampiress accompany. But no one talked to them, or asked them any questions.  
There were no guards around.  
The vault was big and cast out of one single piece of concrete.  
At its end, several steps lead up to an unadorned platform on which a handful of black-clad Vampaneze talked with each other.  
As Gillian entered, the hall fell silent and the crowd parted before her like water.  
A hundred pairs of eerily glowing eyes were directed at her.  
Gillian tried to show no fear, and walked with held high head through the crowd towards the podium.  
A man stepped forward, placed his fingertips together and looked interested from above the steps at the newcomers. Unlike the other Vampaneze he was lean, clean and sleek. He exuded dignity and authority, and Gillian knew instinctively that she was dealing here with an old and powerful Vampaneze.  
"Well, Bargen? Whom have you brought here? ", The man addressed her leader. But still he looked intently at Gillian, who returned the gaze unflinchingly.  
"She really wanted to come here ... to you ... wants to make you an offer, she said. Stupid vampire, followed me here ... whole way", her leader panted, whose name was apparently Bargen, but the old man interrupted his excited stammering, and looked at Gillian:" Who are you and who sent you ?"  
"Nobody sent me," said Gillian. "I'm here on my own." The man had raised an eyebrow, so she added: "Nobody commands me. No man, no God, no prince.  
My name is Gillian.  
I'm Larten Crepsleys former student. "  
An excited murmur ran through the crowd. Some hissed angrily and huddled closer to her, but they kept a respectful distance.  
"You are the one who killed Murlough," someone shouted and some bared their teeth or pulled out a knife.  
Gillian did not move.  
She continued to look unflinchingly at the man on the steps high above her.  
She calmly said:  
"No, I did not kill Murlough.  
Larten Crepsley has done it. "  
She raised her voice to be heard loud and clear above the clamor:  
"I'm Murloughs descendant!"  
This message was bursting like a bomb.  
All were screaming and shouting with each other, and Gillian stood in the midst of the madding crowd and shouted, her head held high:  
"He has created me. His blood flows in my veins!"  
She pulled on her coat, revealing a portion of her décolleté:  
"He has marked me!"  
On her white skin shone the scars that Murlough had once given her.

Then a figure appeared behind the man on the stairs and called out: "She's telling the truth. I've seen it myself."  
The crowd fell silent and everyone looked up at the figure, amazed.  
Gillian also could not hide her surprise.

With pounding heart she looked at the boy, who had appeared confident next to the sleek Vampaneze and looking down at her with his irritating violet eyes.  
Steve.  
Gillian struggled to control herself. A flood of conflicting emotions swept over her, leaving her pulse beat faster and her hands becoming wet.  
Steve.  
He lived.  
He was here.  
And, intentionally or not, he came to defense her.  
Gillian's mind raced. He could not know that she lied. He had seen how Murlough drunk her blood and had nearly killed her after she had immersed herself in his throat, and had drank his blood.  
Take it easy, Gillian.  
He does not know what Larten did.  
He can not know it.  
Stick to your story.  
She forced herself to breathe quietly, and dared to look Steve directly into his eyes.  
A haughty smile played around his lips.  
"Gillian. Murloughs offspring, "said the old Vampaneze with graying hair at the temples, as if it was a greeting, and thus verified her claims.  
The crowd was silent and all waited anxiously to see what happened next.  
"Even if the blood flowing in your veins is Vampaneze one, you've spent the last few years in the company of the vampires and the killer Larten Crepsley. What do you now want here?"  
Gillian had her well-considered answer: "The vampires have outcast me."  
A murmur went through the crowd. Some laughed gleefully.  
Gillian did not move. "They sentenced me to death. I escaped the cell, however, and Vampire Mountain."  
The laughter stopped. The Vampaneze exchanged stares of disbelief, obviously impressed.  
The old Vampaneze and Steve at his side smiled.  
"Then you have come to join the Vampaneze." Steve said with satisfaction in his voice.  
Gillian shook her head.  
Steve curled his forehead angrily and was about to flare, but the old Vampaneze cut him off the word with a motion. "So why are you here?"  
Gillian looked around the room.  
About fifty dirty and ragged Vampaneze were lurking in the vaults and further into the shadows of the corridors. She stepped on to the stairs and went up two levels so that she directly faced the old Vampaneze. He had not moved, while some nervously shuffled their feet, apparently unsure of what the vampiress was about.  
Gillian lowered her voice and directly addressed the powerful old man with graying temples in front of her.  
"I'm looking for Gannen Harst."  
The man narrowed his eyes.  
"You found him. I am Gannen Harst. "  
Gillian hesitated. Was that possible?  
She reached under her clothing. A few Vampaneze with shaved bald heads wanted to stop her, but the man who claimed to be Harst Gannen waved a hand and they resigned.  
Gillian took out a piece of paper and handed it to him.  
Frowning, he unfolded it.  
His eyes darted across the page.  
Then he handed it back to the vampiress.  
"You know what that is?" Gillian asked.  
He nodded. "Certainly. I have written it myself."  
Gillian's heart began to pound excitedly. He actually was Gannen Harst!  
The parchment Gillian had stolen from the library of the Vampires, had been signed with Gannen Harst. He was the eyewitness who had been there in the fight against the last of the shadowdancers !  
Gillian's eyes sparkled.  
She lowered her eyes and bowed her head. "Gannen Harst. I'm here because I need some information from you. "  
The Vampaneze looked at her piercingly. "What kind of information should that be?"  
Gillian looked around again. Here were way too many ears.  
"I would like to talk to you in private ..."  
"I have no secrets from my peers."  
The prince of the vampires had sent the other elder vampires away, as Gillian had asked for it. Apparently the Vampaneze would not do the same.  
She sighed.  
As you want, she thought.  
"I want to know where the grave is."  
Gannen Harst was silent. He seemed to reflect.  
"You know, where it is?"  
He nodded. "Certainly. But this information is not for everyone."  
He laid his fingertips together and began to pace up and down.  
Gillian felt Steve's attention on her, but avoided looking in his direction.  
Gannen Harst spoke again: "We have heard a lot of you, Gillian. It is said, Larten Crepsley has blooded a shadowdancer. "  
Gillian made a face. My reputation precedes me, she thought cynically.  
She nodded. "This is the reason why the vampires want to execute me."  
A murmur went through the crowd.  
Gannen Harst looked at her.  
"If that's true. Prove it."  
Gillian swallowed.  
All this struck her as so well known.  
The last time she had to put her skills to the test, she had pretended as if her gift was weak and underdeveloped. She wanted to look harmless and innocent.  
She succeed - at least the vampire prince Paris Skyle had believed her - but the fear of the vampires from the shadowdancers was big enough that they still had sentenced her to death.  
This time, Gillian would change her tactics.  
This time she did not want to act innocent and harmless.  
For the first time Gillian would show what she can.  
Ironically, she was not sure whether it would work. In Vampires Mountain her forces had been as strong as ever.  
But here and now they were just as weak as before.  
Gillian turned up her nose.  
Anyway. She had to show the Vampaneze what she could.  
She had to impress Gannen Harst.  
"All right," she said. " I'll dance for you with the shadows."


	6. Chapter 6: Shadows

Chapter 6: Shadows

Gillian bowed and climbed the steps down into the vault.  
The assembled Vampaneze backed away from her, so that they made a big open space like an arena in the middle of the vault.  
Gillian looked around. She strode along the line, as if to check if it was enough space for her. The Vampaneze shuffled more tightly towards the walls and gave way as she walked past them.  
Gillian tried to suppress a grin.  
They were afraid of her.  
Very good.  
Seemingly quiet and calm the vampires turned back to the middle of the room, and slowly began to unbutton her coat.  
She let it slip over her shoulders, bend down to pick it up, folded it carefully, and then slipped out of her boots.  
This was already part of the show.  
Inside, Gillian tried to remain calm and turn off the voice inside her, who asked anxiously: What if you cannot do it? What if the shadows do not obey you? What if they obey you, but then the Vampaneze will panic and kill you? What if ...  
Gillian forced herself to breathe quietly, and clear her head of all the doubts, while she did her preparations.  
She put the boots on the ground next to her coat, and padded barefoot in front of the podium.  
She untied her hair, so that her black silky mane fell smooth like a curtain and hid her face.  
She crossed her legs and bowed to Gannen Harst and the other Vampaneze who stood atop of the podium.  
Including Steve.  
With bowed head she stood still and sensed out into the room.  
She closed her eyes and began to sway to a melody, which existed only in her head.  
Gillian began to dance, to a ghostly choreography that she had rehearsed many years before.  
She gave the performance she had never been allowed to give in the Cirque du Freak. Of which she had always dreamed of, she would do on stage one day. Now it was time. But the audience was no humans, it was a bunch of Vampaneze.

Gannen Harst stared spellbound at the small woman who began to dance to an inaudible tune. With dainty little steps she fell backwards, her face hidden by long shiny hair.  
Suddenly black smoke rose from the ground, such as fog and crawled over the feet of the woman.  
Although electric lights illuminated the vault, it suddenly became noticeably darker, as if someone had turned the power off.  
A murmur went through the crowd.  
The vampiress began to spin around, and the black fog crept up on her like she would be clothed in a shadowy veil.  
Fascinated Gannen watched how the illusion was created when the midnight blue dress condensed and flowed along with the fog.  
Gillian conducted the darkness with well-chosen elegant gestures, as if it were a piece of cloth and wrapped herself tighter and tighter into blackness.  
Under her coat she was only wearing a black corset to the many layers of her skirt, and her white skin gleamed tantalizingly out of the blackness, her slender arms cut the fog and added it together how she wanted, as if it was a touchable material.  
It was as if she was doing a reverse veil dance.  
It was getting darker and the Vampaneze became restless.  
They could now no longer distinguish what was dress, what hair, and what was swirling darkness. Before their very eyes dancing night became alive.

Gillian forgot where she was. She focused entirely on to command the shades to wrap themselves around her. The number that she had thought up years ago to please Larten Crepsley, was difficult and she never really succeeded in it.  
While she could always wrap herself in darkness and become almost invisible.  
But to direct the shadows as if they were a piece of cloth, was very stressful.  
But also very effective.  
The night obeyed her, and when she had only managed it, to call the shadows, they flowed around her like a willing dance partner. The shadows were whispering to her and touched her with cold fingers. Gillian enjoyed the feeling. She had never so freely and openly demonstrated what she was capable of.  
Look at me.  
Look, as I dance with the shadows!  
Gillian looked up at the podium.  
She was now completely covered in swirling darkness and knew that the people on the podium above her, could only make her out with difficulty. Even not with their sharpened Vampaneze senses.  
Heart pounding, she looked up at Steve.  
The Vampaneze in the body of a teenager watched her with a mixture of fascination and desire.  
A tingle spread through Gillian's stomach.  
She decided to give a bit more.  
She would finally show what she was capable of.

Steve watched as the vampiress Gillian came with a swirling move out of the blackness, as if it was ink.  
His heart was beating excitedly as he could admire her slim body in a corsage.  
She reached into the swirling blackness, as if it was smoke and pulled a long strand of darkness along her arm, that wrapped itself around her wrist, like a chain.  
With an evil grin the vampires scanned the crowd, and her gaze came to rest on Bargen.  
Next to Steve Gannen Harst leaned forward and squinted his eyes.  
Gillian spun around and swung the dark line in her hand like a whip.  
It cut through the room and snatched with a hiss like a snake after Bargens face, who jumped away with a scream.  
The whip snapped back and came to rest in Gillian's hand, who looked at Bargen with interest her head cocked, as if to examine what she had done.  
Bargen kept screaming and screaming with his hands to his face. Behind his fingers smoke was puffing, as if he had burned himself.  
The Vampaneze broke into a riot.  
All were screaming and raging, many ran into the hallways, where they mutually overrun each others.  
Others drew their weapons, and bared their teeth.  
Some had thrown themselves on the ground and held their hands above their heads.  
Gillian stood calmly in the middle of the room.  
The darkness still swilled like fog and a string twitched in her hand, like a living being.  
Gannen Harst had stayed calm as well.  
He raised his thin white hands and clapped.  
Once.  
Twice.  
Gillian looked at him.  
Three times.  
He bowed his head, and thus paid her the highest respect possible.  
Gillian bowed deeply. The whip in her hand disappeared and the black smoke seeped into the ground.  
Slowly she came up from the deep bow as the last bit of darkness vanished at her feet.  
Absolute silence fell.  
Only Bargen whimpering, sobbing over the long smoldering wound in his face.  
But no one paid him any attention.  
"Impressive," praised Gannen Harst. "Come, shadowdancer Gillian. Let's talk more next door." He held out a hand invitingly, and Gillian picked up her belongings and climbed the stairs to the top next to Gannen Harst on the podium.  
He opened a door at the rear end and meant her with a welcoming gesture to follow him.  
Gillian slipped into the room, which was comfortably furnished with a sofa, a desk and – to Gillians surprise - a computer.  
Behind her Steve walked into the room without being asked to, and shut the door.  
Gillian threw her clothes on a couch and looked at Gannen Harst.  
"Will you then lead me to the grave of the last of the shadowdancers?", she asked.  
The old Vampaneze scratched his chin.  
"You have indeed proven that you are a shadowdancer yourself. But what you require is a very valuable information. Why do you think I should take you there?"  
Gillian tried to stay calm.  
She has impressed this ancient and powerful Vampaneze!  
One who had seen real shadowdancers in action!  
Her performance has seemingly not been the worst.  
"I do not ask that you do it for nothing," she said excitedly. She was so close to her goal now! Finally. "I will show my gratitude."  
He frowned.  
"I have been in Vampire Mountain. I know a lot. I can be useful to you!"  
Gannen Harst rubbed his smooth chin.  
Then he looked at Steve, who was leaning casually against the wall beside the door, attentively following the conversation.  
"Well," said Harst. "I will tell you where the grave is. On the price you will bargain with Steve."  
"What?" Gillian exclaimed confused.  
Gannen Harst looked at her coldly. "This is my condition. Steve puts the price."  
He nodded towards the teenager, turned on his heel and left the room.  
Gillian was left confused and alone, together with the Vampaneze Steve Leopard, who grinned cheeky at her.


	7. Chapter 7: Tears

Chapter 7: "Tears"

Gillian felt anxious, helpless and confused. She looked at the Vampaneze in the body of a teenager, and the events of the night that she had last time seen him, came suddenly back to her mind. The night in which she had become a vampire.  
A flood of conflicting emotions rolled over her, and she was no longer able to control them.  
To her own horror, tears sprang to her eyes.  
Steve.  
He had betrayed her.  
She had trusted him, had believed that he understood her. That he was like her.  
But he had just used her.  
Gillian began to tremble all over.  
Steve pushed himself away from the wall on which he had been leaning casually and came up to Gillian.  
Anger and resentment that had been building up in her broke out. Gillian shot forward, raised her right arm and hit Steve with her palm so hard in the face that his head flew to the side.  
Breathing heavily, she stood still, shocked at herself.  
She felt again, how he had once beaten her so severely that she had been slammed to the floor of the stage of that old theater.  
That was for you Darren, she thought. _"If I meet Steve the next time, then I'll give him a slap that his head flies off!_" Gillian remembered the oath which she had given to Darren.  
Well, his head did not fly off though, but it had still felt good.  
On Steves left cheek fire-red imprints of Gillian's slender fingers appeared. His mouth dropped open in surprise and indignation.  
His violet eyes flashed angrily, and Gillian got scared.  
What had she done?  
Steve was a Vampaneze, and whatever his position was here, the others seemed to respect him and listen to him. Gannen Harst even made a point to Steve's decisions. Even back then, in the boxing ring, when she had been in Murloughs power, the Vampaneze had obeyed Steve.  
If he now felt humiliated by Gillian, it could be that he gives orders to kill her.  
He was unpredictable.  
But Gillian was hardly capable of a clear thought. She was afraid of Steve, but at the same time felt a deep satisfaction for having given him a bitch slap. Tears flooded out of her eyes, and with trembling lips, she said: "That was something you still owed to me. "  
Steve recovered from the shock, took the hand from his painful cheek and stepped menacingly towards the vampiress.  
Gillian gasped and backed hastily away from him until she came with her back against a wall.  
Steve hit hard with his right hand against the concrete wall, an inch away from Gillian's face, and watched with satisfaction as she jumped, startled.  
He pressed himself against her.  
With open mouth and big frightened eyes the petite woman looked up at him. Steve tilted his head and brought his face close to hers.  
Her heartbeat and her breathing quickened, and she tried to make herself smaller.  
Steve pushed his body even closer to her, grabbed her chin and pulled her head up. His face was only inches away from her, and Gillian's heart was racing. Confused, she registered that he smelled pretty darn good.  
Like back then.  
She looked into the depths of his fascinating violet eyes and tried to wrest from him, but he held her relentlessly. He was strong.  
She gasped startled, as he pressed his lips to hers.  
She tried to push him away with both hands on his chest, but he was firm as a rock. Under her hand, she felt his heartbeat and her fingers dug into his shirt.  
He pressed his mouth on her and an electric flash ran through her as the tip of his tongue touched hers for the fraction of a second.  
His hand went to her neck, and Gillian groaned as he pushed his leg between hers.  
A giddy feeling came over her, that had its origin somewhere deep in her guts.  
Whereas Steve broke away from her.  
Disheveled and panting Gillian leaned against the wall.  
The Vampaneze curled triumphantly his lips. With one hand he still leaned against the wall, and still close to her, he said: "That was something you owed to me."  
He grinned cheekily and pushed away from the wall in order to casually stroll over to the sofa.  
He left Gillian breathlessly with soft knees and in deep confusion.  
How had Steve managed to make her so vulnerable?  
Even when she was in great danger, even as she had been sentenced to death and taken away to the cells, she had not felt so vulnerable and weak-willed. Still she was very shaky, and her thoughts raced.  
He had kissed her!  
With a mighty effort of will she put everything aside, just closed the experience deep down inside her, and put on her old mask.  
Keep cool, Gillian!  
Steve sat on the sofa, his arms put casually over the backrest, one leg square across the other, and grinned at her. He was evidently very pleased with himself.  
Asshole, thought Gillian, and came of the wall.  
Striving to appear unaffected, she stumbled on her bare feet to the chair and sat down to put her boots back on, which she had taken off for the performance of the shadowdance.  
So she won a few more seconds, where she could gather herself and think about how she should proceed.  
Why of all things does she have to negotiate with Steve?  
She was dressed again and looked defiantly at the teenager. Then she got up and made her way to the door.  
"Where are you going?" exclaimed Steve.  
"Forget it, Steve, I do not negotiate with you!"  
"You do, however, or you will never find the grave," he grinned.  
Furious she looked at him. "You deceived me," she hissed.  
The grin faded, and he frowned. "I didn`t! It was you who had suddenly taken the side of my ex-best friend. "  
Gillian snorted. "You wanted to kill him."  
Steve's eyes narrowed. "He infuriated me. He is the one who deceived me. He deserves to die! Do not act as if you never get angry."  
Gillian stared at him: "You had planned it. Why else was Murlough there? "  
Steve gave up his casual attitude, and leaned forward: "He was my mentor! He has watched over me. Of course he was there."  
Tears came back to Gillians eyes: "We had a deal! You said you would transform me!"  
Steve jumped up and came over to her: "I wanted to. But you've taken on Darren's side!"  
Gillian shook her head, trying to hold back the tears. "You used me. You only wanted Darren."  
You hurt me!, it screamed in Gillian, but she did not say it.  
"You knew that. That was the deal. Do not act as if you had not been glad to get rid of him. " He stepped towards and raised his hand to wipe the bloody tears from her face, but she slapped his hand away.  
He shrugged and turned away. "As you wish, Gillian."  
Gillian chewed on her lower lip.  
Helplessly, she stood in the room, and watched as Steve sat down in the chair behind the desk.  
Glum she wiped over her face, wet from tears of blood.  
When she made no move to leave, Steve continued: "Why don`t you listen to what I have to propose?"  
"I know what you want. But I'm not going to do it", she hissed. "I will not surrender Darren Shan. Not him, and not Larten Crepsley either. Forget about it!"  
"Who says I want that from you?", he grinned.  
She wrinkled her nose. "Who says that you will really lead me to the grave? The last time you cheated on me. I do not trust you."  
Steve sighed.  
Gillian went up to the desk and leaned on the plate. "Besides, I do not know if it helps me something to find the grave. Maybe there's only dust and ancient stones. Why should I pay a high price?"  
Steve looked at her seriously. "Believe me, there is more to find for you than dust and stones."  
How he wanted to know?

"I'll see that when I am there. I will not buy a pig in a poke."  
Steve rubbed his shaven chin. This gesture he probably got from Gannen Harst.  
"Ok. I'll make a suggestion. We tell you where the grave is. You go there and have a look at it. If you find something there that is of value to you, then you owe me something."  
Gillian's eyes narrowed. "And what?"  
"Let's just say you're standing in my debt."  
"So you can ask for what ever you want? Forget it! I'm not going to deliver Crepsley and Shan ... "  
"I will not ask for something, that you cannot give me."  
Gillian stopped. This was foul. "I will veto it, if you're asking the impossible."  
Steve nodded. "I know. I told you, I will not ask you what you cannot give. You can still refuse."  
Gillian frowned. Where was the catch?  
Feverishly she wondered what it could be that he would ask of her. Would he and Harst not want her deliver up one of her friends? That she would never do, and he knew it. But one of the other vampires? Could she return to Vampire Mountain and kill one of them? Gillian thought how strong she had been in the eternal darkness there. What if Steve insisted that she went back and killed one of the princes? For example, Paris Skyle? Or Mika Ver Leth ... at the thought of the dark-haired prince of the vampires, who had been so eager to condemn her to death, hatred clenched in her stomach. Yes, thought Gillian.

Kill Mika Ver Leth. I could do that.  
Gillian looked Steve in his fascinating violet eyes.  
A determined expression appeared on her lips.  
She needed this information. And if she once had been at the grave, she could still bargain. What does she have to lose?  
The vampiress took a deep breath:  
"Deal!"


	8. Chapter 8: Sweat

Chapter 8: "Sweat"

Gillian wiped the sweat from her face and hit after the insects buzzing around them. Despite the high position on a mountain, the jungle was nearly impenetrable at this point and they had to leave the jeep and make their way on foot.  
They moved slowly, the men before her cut a path with a machete.  
Only three men were left: two supporters and a local guide, which whom Gillian had to communicate in broken English. The rest, with whom she had set out on her expedition, had fled from her, either when they found out where the trip went to, or after her strange behavior made them run. The three that were left, were afraid of her, too.  
Gillian could not help it.  
For weeks now she was on her way in the jungle, after she first had to cross half the continent by airplane and then to drive many miles in a jeep. Eventually, she found no more excuses as to why she could not be out in the daylight, and the locals strictly refused to walk in the jungle at night.  
Gillian protected herself from the sunlight by a self-made sleeping bag, which was lined inside with aluminum foil, temporarily but effectively.  
She had to rely on these men, even if she had learned how to handle a map and a compass. Lots of money and fear of her wrath kept the men staying with her, and not abandon her in the middle of nowhere.  
Gannen Harst had obeyed to the order of Steve Leopard, and given her the coordinates where the grave of the last shadowdancer should be located.  
But he had not come with her, Gillian had to went of alone.  
Now they were many miles away from the last inhabited village, and their food run out. It had to last long enough for the way back, too.  
But it was not far any more.  
Rest of ruins began to appear on the right and left of the road repeatedly, and Gillian became more and more excited.  
Finally, they reached a kind of clearing, and the men came to a halt.  
Before them loomed the shapeless block of a faded stone pyramid whose levels were covered with dense undergrowth and vines.  
With a pounding heart Gillian entered the clearing, but the men shook their heads and talked applied to each other.  
They did not dare to go near the pyramid.  
Gillian impatiently gave them the order to wait here and build up a camp on the brim of the clearing for the day.  
She pulled her machete, and walked the rest of the way on her own.  
She tried to walk around the stone building, looking for an entrance.  
Although Gillian could not say it with certainty: the Mayan had not built that pyramid, and also no other culture that was mentioned in the human history books.  
In the heat, which also prevailed in the jungle at night, Gillian made a path to the foot of the stairs.  
She raised the torch and in its flickering light appeared a hole that was cut into the side wall of the pyramid.  
An entrance.  
But as Gillian approached closer, she stopped.  
The entrance was still in the dark.  
Even as Gillian held the tip of the torch far into the hole, no apparent stone walls came to light, which should have to be there to see.  
The torch gave a hiss, and she quickly pulled it back.  
The interior of the pyramid was filled with impenetrable and unnatural darkness.  
Gillian stared breathlessly at the inky blackness.  
She had never seen shadows that had not been conjured up by herself.  
This was the darkness of a shadowdancer!  
Gillian realized that no one could enter this grave, who was not himself a shadowdancer.  
Especially not a vampire could go beyond this barrier, without going up in flames.  
The pyramid was filled with darkness, which burned like sunlight.  
Gillian chewed on her lower lip.  
Damn.  
She was a shadowdancer.  
But she was a vampire as well.  
Would she manage to pass through this barrier? Or would the shadow see her as an enemy, as a vampire, and burn her to ashes?  
Gillian felt goose bumps crawl down her spine.  
She had come so far.  
She had to try it.  
The vampiress put the torch into the earth near the entrance, and stretched her stiff limbs after this long hike.  
She forced herself to breathe quietly, and closed her eyes.  
She sensed into the entrance, and tried to call the shadows in there.  
Startled, she sniffed the air, and gasped.  
This darkness in there was unlike any she had ever known.  
It was as if in there was an alive and intelligent, evil being. One fulfilled with hatred.  
The shadowdancer who was in that grave, had pulled together all his anger and hatred to protect his final resting place.  
But Gillian did not come here in bad faith.  
She was looking for a teacher.  
She closed her eyes and concentrated.  
Let me in, I am not an enemy, she thought concentrated.  
With gestures that she had taught herself, she ordered the darkness to soften before her. She closed her eyes and opened them not, for fear that she would hesitate when she saw that it had not worked.  
Then she held her breath, and boldly stepped into the tunnel.

It was as if she dipped in cool water.  
But the shadows did not burn her.  
She opened her eyes, and for a moment did not know if they were already open, or not, because all she saw was the blackest night. Then her shadowdancer eyes became used to the darkness and she saw the gray shape of a chamber.  
Gillian gently penetrated deeper into the pyramid.  
She saw the silhouette of a sarcophagus, which rested just before her on a stone pedestal.  
Her pulse quickened.  
The sarcophagus was open, and as Gillian told the darkness to give way, she tore it open like a fog, revealing the view. The view on the figure of a mummy that lay with arms crosses over his chest in the open stone sarcophagus  
The mummy was leathery and dried up, and it was impossible to say how long it had been here.  
The head of the shadowdancer was placed in his neck and Gillian saw fascinated and afraid that darkness as black as smoke poured out of the gaping mouth of the mummy.  
He produced the blackness!  
Still!  
Gillian carefully stepped closer to the sarcophagus, unsure what to do next.  
Then she turned, startled.  
In the darkness behind the coffin had been something glowing and went out again, like the tip of a cigarette.  
With a beating heart, she stared at the spot, trying to see through the darkness.  
There it was again!  
It glowed and faded.  
Glowed and faded.  
Glowed and faded - Gillian thought she recognized a heart-shaped outline.  
She noticed that the red-hot heart seemed to pulsate to the pulse of her own heartbeat.  
"Who's there?", she gasped.  
Someone stepped out of the darkness.  
Someone with a pocket watch in the form of a heart in his hand.  
Desmond Tiny.

Gillian staggered back a few steps. A cold shiver crept up her spine.  
What had this one to do here?  
The fat man in the shiny suit seemed not to sweat nor to suffer from the insects. He looked fresh like newborn as he emerged, and looked with an amused smile at Gillian.  
At sight of cold fear crept up to her and grabbed her heart.  
Gillian had met this scary man, who called himself Desmond Tiny, only a few times. The little people of the Cirque du Freak belonged to him, and he occasionally visited and had brought some or taken some with him. Without exception, all the members of the Cirque were afraid of him, and stayed out of his way. There was the wildest rumors about him. It was said that he was a magician.  
And it was said, that he eats small children for breakfast.  
Larten Crepsley feared and hated the Magician, and that was reason enough for Gillian to hate him too.  
"What are you doing here?" gasped Gillian, and tried to hide her fear.  
"So you've finally found your way here," he said, amused, and Gillian stared at him aghast.  
"Does that mean you were expecting me?"  
"Certainly," he chuckled merrily.  
Gillian angrily furrowed a brow. "Then you know what this is here," she pointed to the grave and to the black smoke that came from the mummies throat.  
"I suppose I do," chuckled Mr. Tiny so that his chin wobbled.  
Gillian's mind raced.  
"And you know why I'm here."  
"Because you have questions, little Gillian." He urgently looked at her.  
The heart-shaped clock glowed in his hand and then went out to the rhythm of her own pulse.  
Gillian cocked her head. "And you can answer my questions."  
Mr Tiny turned away and stalked a couple of steps into the chamber.  
"I could. But that would be too easy, right? It's much more amusing to observe you as you tap in the darkness." He laughed happily about his play on words.  
Gillian angrily contorted her face.  
He looked at her avuncular, "I like to observe you. You have high entertainment value. Really. I like you, vampiress Gillian."  
Gillian squinted her eyes and snorted.  
Mr Tiny grinned: "And because I like you so much, I grant you a question. How is that? A single question. Consider well, then, before you ask it."  
Apparently, he was enjoying himself very much, and Gillian turned her back on him in disgust.  
What was this about? She did not trust him for a second.  
And yet ...  
Yet he probably knew everything about the grave and the shadowdancers.  
Nobody knew how old Mr. Tiny was - or what he was- but Larten Crepsley had hinted that he existed since a very long time. He was perhaps older than the oldest of the vampires. Older than Paris Skyle.  
He wanted to answer her a question. Why not? She would hear what he had to say.  
She began to pace up and down thoughtfully, and did not notice how she rubbed about the scar on her left side while she were deep in thoughts.  
There was so much, what she wanted to know, so much she was wondering, so much she did not understand.  
She looked at the grave of the shadowdancer and watched the black smoke flowing from his mouth bathing the room in perpetual night.  
Mr Tiny watched Gillian and held her gaze.  
"Why is she called the Queen of Air and Darkness? What's up with the air? I understand the part about the darkness, but what about the air ... ?"  
Mr Tiny grimaced in anger. "Not that! I will not answer that to you. Ask another question!"  
Gillian looked stunned, like Des Tiny was furious. "Why not? Why don`t you want to answer that?"  
"Never mind the air! This is not for you! Stay with the darkness!"  
Excited Gillian understood that she probably came upon something important. If Mr Tiny did not want her to ask him questions about the air, then these questions were probably very important!  
"We had a deal. Answer my question, Des Tiny! "  
The sinister fat man looked at her in a way that made Gillian ran shivers down her spine. She realized this man was evil. Abysmal evil!  
She could not hide her fear, and Mr Tiny pouted his lips. "I have granted you to ask a question. I have not granted you that I will answer it", he said gleefully and made Gillian hopping mad.  
She snorted and turned away.  
It took her great self-control, to turn her back to this man, while all of her senses shouted at her that she could not trust him.  
But she wanted to avoid that he became even more angry at her.  
This man was capable of anything.  
"All right," she said, as casually as possible, and acted as if she was interested in more details of the sarcophagus. "I'll have to find out myself."  
Mr Tiny watched her as she walked around the grave, and ran her fingers over an inscription.  
It was written in Latin.  
She looked back at him. "Then tell me why you're here."  
This seemed to please the magician again. A smile flickered back on his fat face. "Who says I want something?" He chuckled.  
"You have certainly not come all the long way here just to see me?", said Gillian, and pulled an eyebrow in mock surprise.  
Mr Tiny chuckled merrily. "Oh, the way is not as far as you think."  
Gillian leaned over the sarcophagus and looked seemingly interested at the mummy.  
"How about if I do answer your question?"  
Gillian looked up.  
"But then you have to also do something for me."  
Gillian grabbed cold fear. Tiny was the last person with whom she wanted to have a deal. Whatever he wanted from her, she could not do it in any case.  
Nevertheless, she was eager to learn what it was that he wanted from her.  
"What?" she asked, therefore her stomach rebelled with fear. "What do you want me to do?"  
Mr Tiny looked at her cold and calculating. "I'll answer your question. But not yet. It's not time yet. One day you will get the answer to your question. But until then, you have just to do one thing."  
He paused, enjoying the effect of his words.  
"What do you want?" moaned Gillian.  
With a wicked smile Des Tiny leaned forward: "I want you to choose for a side!"


	9. Chapter 9: Hate

**Chapter 9: "Hate"**

Mr Tiny had left without another word.  
To be exact, he suddenly just disappeared. He had retreated backwards into the darkness of the cave, and his evil smile vanished along with his red-hot pocket watch in the shape of a heart.  
Gillian had searched every corner of the whole cave with the torch in her hand.  
But although the magician was gone, the tension would not let go of Gillian.  
The heat exhausted her more and more, and she began to feel dizzy, but she could not say due to exhaustion or fear. She felt like being observed, and the thought that the creepy magician could disappear as quickly as he had suddenly appeared here, made her nearly hysterical. She wished to be far far away, somewhere safe.  
And yet she had so much taken on to finally be here.  
What for?  
Gillian looked frantically and repeatedly in every corner of the stone chamber, but there was nothing else than the sarcophagus with the mummy, no murals, no grave goods, or inscriptions.  
With trembling fingers Gillian went repeatedly over the inscription, which was cut into the base of the stone sarcophagus, and memorized the words whispering them repeatedly to herself.  
She squatted next to the grave of the mummy and stared into the black leather face, into the empty holes where the eyes once had been.  
A kind of fever had taken on the vampiress, her tormented body was shivering and cold sweat ran down on her as she rocked back and forth, mumbling the Latin words repeatedly without understanding their meaning.  
Gillian did not understand what this was, what the mummy did there, or how it did it, what Mr Tiny did want from her, or how she could prevent, that he gets what he wanted.  
How could she NOT choose for a side?  
About which sites was he talking about?  
Vampires and Vampaneze?  
The vampires finally had outcasted her, THEY had decided against Gillian, not other way round.  
But did that made her into a Vampaneze?  
"I am already on a side, I'm on Larten Crepsleys side," Gillian whispered feverishly to herself. Is that what Mr Tiny wanted?

That she stood to Crepsley?

Then she had to do the opposite ...

No, she could never, she loved him, had sworn to him ... but maybe Mr Tiny wanted exactly the opposite, wanted her to leave Crepsley, had said so, because he knew she would always keep to him ...  
Gillians head spun.  
"Fuck Tiny," she cursed and wiped the sweat from her eyes.

She had come here for something else.  
She stood up and swayed. She had to hold onto the edge of the coffin for not to fall down, her legs wouldn`t hold her.  
"Who are you?", she whispered to the mummy and leaned closer over the corpse.  
Thick black smoke poured out of the mouth of the mummy and filled the grave chamber in little rippling swirls.  
Gillian brought her face closer to the gaping maw and watched, fascinated, how the darkness arouse from it.  
This darkness seemed to spring from a never-ending source. The swath surrounded Gillian, flowed over her face, fingered her with cold hands and backed away from her. This shadow was different, strong and solid, and it seemed to want to escape from her influence, she could not command it, it was not hers.  
Gillian was accustomed to that the darkness came to her, actually sought for her presence.  
Inside Vampire Mountain the Shadows had almost forced themselves upon her, courted her, whispered to her, had wanted her company, like a long-lost friend.  
But this darkness did not want her.  
It already belonged to someone.  
Gillian always had to call out for the shadows before they came to her, and did what she asked of it. At Vampire Mountain it had happened so fast, because there never had been any sunlight.  
In the bunker of the Vampaneze it had took a bit until she had collected enough darkness.  
This dead Shadowdancer was different.  
He carries his own shadow at all times inside of him.  
This was the last priest of the Queen of Air and Darkness.  
And she was the first priestess in centuries.  
She would take, what she came for.  
She would take what she deserved.  
Gillian leaned close over the rim of the coffin and brought her face close to the crumbling mouth of the mummy.  
She pressed her lips to the open mouth of the corpse, her lips on the leathery and aged blackened face of the last of the Shadowdancers.  
The smoke poured into her mouth and threatened to suffocate her.  
Movement sprang up, the blackness twirled and clenched above the sarcophagus and to Gillian, but she did not let go.  
She took a deep breath, took a sip, as if it was ink, felt how darkness drove into her and filled her up.  
And then she sucked.  
Sucked and sucked all out.  
The body crunched under her when it was crushed by Gillians hands, and old yellow teeth tumbled out of the ancient mouth, but Gillian did not let go, grabbed the face of the mummy and sucked with all her might all the darkness into herself ...

When Gillian left the pyramid it was deep night.  
With the torch in hand, she stepped out into the jungle and entered the camp that her companions had built up.  
They were sitting around a campfire, and looked up as she stepped out of the pyramid.  
Gillian saw in the faces of the men, that she had changed.  
She saw the fear in their eyes.  
She cleared her throat, and barely recognized her own voice as she commanded to decamp.  
They would leave this place as soon as possible.  
Only too glad the men came to this invitation, and half an hour later they were back on their way through the jungle.  
Gillian stayed a little behind, and the men seemed to be happy to keep distance from her.  
And leave this sinister place very quickly.  
As dawn broke, Gillian wrapped up in her sleeping bag, and ordered to march for two more hours, even if the men were on the verge of exhaustion.  
Gillian herself was on the verge of exhaustion.  
But she wanted as soon as possible to be away from the pyramid.  
She wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and the grave.

The way back went a little faster than the journey before, but still it took several weeks until Gillian entered an airport.  
She checked in and sat down in one of the uncomfortable plastic seats of a waiting hall.  
Finally leaving the jungle.  
But now she would have to go back to the Vampaneze and pay her debts.  
She was scared of what Steve possibly would demand from her.  
But there was something else she had to do before.  
A promise that she had given, and it was time to redeem it.


	10. Chapter 10: Blood

Chapter 10: "Blood"

Gillian stood in front of the old mansion house, and looked up at the facade. The windows were covered in ivy, and the house looked like it cuddled in an green embrace.  
Gillian climbed the steps to the entrance, with a feeling like coming home after a long journey but have become a stranger.  
She rang the bell, and had to wait until steps were heard in the hall.  
Light was turned on and the door opened.  
A middle aged woman with a plump figure and severe hair stood in the doorway and looked at Gillian, frowning.  
Gillian looked back with no less frowning.  
"How dare you! Do you know what time it is," asked the woman and put her hands on her hips.  
Gillian's eyes narrowed, "I want to see the professor ..."  
"The professor is not expecting anybody," the woman said firmly, and tried to close the door.  
Gillian quickly stepped forward and pushed her boots in the doorway.  
Annoyed she looked at the woman. "What's that?"  
"He expects me", hissed Gillian.  
"Take away the foot," the woman said smugly.  
"Only if you let me in!"  
"This is outrageous", the woman said indignantly.  
Gillian could have pressed the door open so that she would get in without problems, but she would have to push the woman aside, too. She wanted to try it peacefully first. "Please," she said. "Tell him that Gillian is here. He will want to see me."  
The woman pursed her lips. "It's late at night. Come back tomorrow. "  
"I will not go. If you don`t let me in, then I'll be waiting here on the doorstep. The professor will not be pleased when he finds out that you made me sleep on the stairs. "  
Uncertainty flickered in the eyes of the woman.  
She pushed the door a little further open, and finally let Gillian in.  
"Well, I'll tell him you're here."  
She waddled up the stairs.  
From there, she called again: "Will you kindly wait here!"  
Gillian grimaced. Who was that old Spinster?  
When the woman came back Gillian could not hide a triumphant grin, as the woman had to grudgingly admit, "He wants to see you."  
She followed her up the stairs and to the door of the bedroom of the professor.  
The woman put her hand on the doorknob, and looked urgently at Gillian, "but only for a brief time. And don`t upset him! "  
Gillian pushed the plump woman aside, pressed down the latch and entered the bedroom, which glowed in the yellow light of a bedside lamp like an amber cave.  
The wrinkled face of the professor lay sunken into cushions surrounded by a ring of white hair, in a white bed. Beside him blinked and chirped multiple devices, one of which led away hoses and cables, which disappeared somewhere under the bed covers.  
With his hand on the doorknob Gillian stood shocked, and looked at the old and weak man, while a slight smell of disinfectant and medicine came to her, and Gillian had to swallow.  
The professor was seriously ill.

The woman outside was a nurse.  
"Gillian ...?" the professor said in a low and husky voice and a smile crossed his face. His old dim eyes tried to discern in the gloomy room. "Is it really you?"  
Gillian felt a lump in her throat.  
"Come closer ...", the professor asked, waving weakly with one hand, a drip attached.  
Gillian closed the door softly behind her and approached the bedside.  
The gray eyes of the old man looked up at her. "Gillian ... you come back after all ..."  
Gillian took his hand and squeezed it. She swallowed. "Sure, I have promised ..."  
The professor closed his eyes, and a peaceful expression came to his face.  
Gillian sat on the edge of the bed while she was still holding his hand. "Professor?  
What`s wrong with you? "  
His eyelids fluttered and he looked up at her. "My time has come, Gillian."  
Gillian felt tears high-rise in her. "No ..." she breathed.  
Tenderly, he looked at her. "All right, my dear. I've lived my life, and as you know, I was not a child of sorrow ... "A cough interrupted him.  
Gillian watched helplessly as his body tensed. Then the cough was over.  
He smiled at her. "Were you successful? Did you find the grave?"  
Gillian swallowed and could only nod.  
"Aaah, that's good ..." he sighed.  
"At the grave was an inscription: Lucem demonstrat umbra."  
He smiled. "A beautiful grave inscription. Too bad that I do not now will be there, when you publish ... "He looked at her. "You will write the study, don`t you?"  
Gillian shook her head. "I can not ..." she whispered.  
The old man frowned, "Gillian. Promise me. Promise that you will write this work. If only to please me. "  
Tortured Gillian shook her head again.  
The old man was clearly upset now: "You have to believe in you. You can do it, you're such a clever girl, Gillian. When I think of all the knowledge that I can not teach you now ... it's a waste, life is too short ... I can not ... could not ... could not write it all down ... I want you to finished it want you to go on ... " He was hyperventilating now, and Gillian tried to reassure him: "Allright allright ... I will do it ... " She grabbed a breathing mask that hung at the head of the bed, and pressed it on his face, panting as the old man was breathing.  
She listened as he got breathing difficulty, as it rattled in his chest.  
He looked at her with watery eyes, but seemed to calm down.  
She carefully took the mask back down, as his breathing was regular again.  
Weak he smiled at her. "I'm sorry. I should not rushing you. You have your own will."  
Gillian looked ashamed.  
The old man raised his hand and stroked her trembling cheek. "It's just that I am ashamed that I initially made advances to you. I should not have done that. You are different from the others, Gillian. "  
He breathed rattling. "I have in my life, God knows, missed nothing ..." his voice was a whisper now "But you ... you were like a daughter to me."  
He closed his eyes.  
The lump in Gillian's throat became bigger.  
Tears pushed up from deep below.  
She laid her head on the chest of the old man, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Richard ... Please ... please do not go ... don`t die!"  
She sobbed.  
She buried her face in his plaid pajamas and listened as his breathing became more shallow.  
"No ..." Gillian moaned tortured. "I've never had a father. You can not die ... please ... do not leave me alone ... "  
Desperate, she could feel his heartbeat fluttering like a small bird under her hand.  
"No!" Gasped Gillian and her head came up. She grabbed the old man by the shoulders. "I need you! You can not die, I've done something bad ... Richard, I do not know what to do ... there's something in me ... inside of me … I'm so much scared, please do not go!"  
But the professor was no longer listening.  
Gillian's hands dug into his shoulders. His heart was getting weaker, in a second he would no longer be present, and there was nothing she could do against it...  
Nothing.  
Except ...  
Gillian leaned down and pulled Richard towards her. He weighed almost nothing, his head hung back unfounded, as Gillian sank her fangs into his throat.  
Without any effort her sharp teeth slashed his skin, and blood flowed lazily from his carotid artery into her mouth.  
Since his heart had almost given up to pump, Gillian had to suck strongly to transfer his blood into her.  
She swallowed bravely while tears of blood ran down her face.  
During her last few sips his heart just gave up.  
He died while Gillian was still clutching him and sucked up the last bit of his blood out of his body.  
And with the last drop something else ran down her throat.  
Gillian closed her eyes and forced herself not to sob.  
Then she let the professor go, and laid him gently back on the pillow.  
She squeezed his eyes shut.  
Her heart fluttered, like a caged bird.  
With her left hand she turned off the beeping and flashing devices, and pulled the needle out of his arm.  
With her right hand she still clutched his hand.  
She had never done this before.  
Not like this.  
But she remembered very well how Larten Crepsley had once told her, that it was possible to make a man live on who was close to death, by taking his memories into yourself.  
By drinking all his blood at the time of his death. Gillian remembered the words of Larten Crepsley like it was yesterday: "_When we drink a man all his blood, we take his soul in us. We take his thoughts, feelings and memories in us, and can thus be live on what would otherwise be forgotten. To drink the blood of friends who are close to death, and keep that way their memories and experiences alive, this is truly a good deed_."  
Gillian sniffled and looked down at the face of the professor. If that was a good deed, so why she felt so miserable then?  
God, how she wished, Larten was here.  
She cleaned her face of the bloody tears.  
Then she set out to inform the nurse that the professor had died.

She did not stay until the funeral.  
She rather just hit the road.  
While the nurse still jittery examined her deceased patient in the bedroom, Gillian went into the library of the professor.  
She switched the lamp with the green screen on his desk and walked over to the bookshelf, which she knew that behind it was the vault.  
She turned on the lock until the correct combination was entered, and took out the papers.  
The parchment with the original from the library of the vampires she put under her clothes.  
His Last Will she put on his desk, unread.  
Then she opened a drawer and pulled out a file. It was her file. She threw it into the fireplace and lit it with a match.  
After she had destroyed all traces and evidence of her person, so it was as if she had never lived here, Gillian made herself ready to go. With her hand on the light switch, she looked one last time around the room. Her eyes slid over the many leather-bound books on the walls, on the messy pile of papers that lay on the window sill, and his reading glasses, which was handy at the red leather base, where he had last put it.  
At a sudden inspiration, Gillian moved once again to the desk drawer, and took out a closed bottle of whiskey.  
She put it in her backpack, and turned out the light.  
Gillian silently glided down the stairs, and slipped like a shadow in the night out of the house, passing the nurse who informed the doctor and the authorities on the phone, that unfortunately the professor of ancient languages and mythology had done tonight his last breath.  
Outside Gillian stopped once on the sidewalk, and looked back towards the house.  
She pulled out the bottle of whiskey, unscrewed the cap and put the bottle to her lips.  
To you, Richard. The only father I ever had.  
She tilted her head back and let the fiery drink run down her throat.

Deep down inside of her something remembered the flavor and taste of it and sighed with pleasure.


	11. Chapter 11: Fear

Chapter 11: "Fear"

A young woman with flawlessly white skin and long black hair, stepped out of the train on the platform. She shouldered apparently easily a full-packed backpack and briefly orientated herself by the street signs, before she took the way down to one of the nearest underground shafts.

She went away from the centre, and got out in a little visited busstop where she crossed the street and slipped behind the grid infront of a abandoned platform.

A few homeless lay in the empty underground shaft, however, they were too drunk to note the woman who climbed silently like a shade past them, and down on the rails.

The woman disappeared in the depth of the underground tunnel.

By an insignificant metal door she stopped, put down the backpack, and pushed with all strength against the heavy gate.

She could push it open just far enough to slip through and drag the unwieldy backpack behind her.

Then the door closed itself again, and the tunnel sank back into darkness and silence.

Gillian looked at the cold and bald concrete walls.

This was the entrance to the bunker of the Vampaneze.

Flickering neon light illuminated the corridor here and there, while the way led slightly sloping into the depth.

Well, thought Gillian. It´s time to pay my debts.

She shouldered the backpack and got on the way, down in the catacombs of the undead under the city.

From time to time other tunnels and doors crossed her way, however, Gillian went on unflustered.

Even when the first creatures appeared in the niches and corners, and they stared from glowing red eyes, Gillian did not deviate from the way.

Whispering and murmuring started around her, and a few creatures started to follow her, shuffling, but nobody appealed to her, or tried to stop her.

A smell of mold ruled in the tunnel and Gillian wrinkled her nose.

When Gillian reached the vault, nearly twenty Vampaneze followed her already curiously.

The vault was emptier than the last time, the platform and the stairs which went up had become orphaned.

Some bald-headed men jumped up with her sight, and ran to the steps to cut her the way.

Gillian stopped and looked around.

She discovered a familiar face in the crowd.

„Bargen!", Gillian snapped with her fingers, and the ugly Vampaneze with the burnt scar winced and ducked as if he expects blows.

„Come!", she ordered gruffly.

Anxiously Bargen looked around for bystanders, however, nobody seemed to want to stand by him. Ducked, on all fours, he hopped carefully closer, and, besides, did not dare to look at Gillian.

When he crouched down to her feet, like a dog, Gillian looked down snooty on him.

She did not do this with pleasure. Even if Bargen was a revolting creature which hardly had human in itself, he had not earned such a treatment. However, unfortunately, it was necessary that Gillian made clear to the Vampaneze with whom they dealt.

The ones who had seen her shadowdance, and how she had burnt Bargen, were still afraid of her. And this should stay so.

„Go, and tell Gannen Harst that I am back."

The Vampaneze crept backward away from her, seemingly relieved to get away unshorn. „Yes, mistress", he panted. „Immediately, mistress."

He crept up the platform and hit with his fist against the gigantic steel gate at the upper end.

The last time, even if a heavy fireproof door, still quite a normal one had been there. But now a round bulkhead which reminded of a passable safe deposit door was resplendent there.

Apparently there was an intercom, in which Bargen keenly whispered, before he jumped down the steps again.

For a moment nothing happened, then it clicked, and the immense safe deposit door swung itself open inwards.

Gillian went up the steps without appreciating Bargen of one more look.

She entered the space behind it, and a bald-headed man, with red-bordered eyes pushed the heavy gate closed behind her.

Gillian saw how thick bolts slided into the concrete walls.

The man nodded to her silently and indicated at a direction.

The former armchairs and the desk had disappeared, instead, corridors led further in the depth.

Gillian followed the shown direction and stood in an dead end which ended before a simple door.

She knocked.

Her knocking sounded subdued as it came from heavy thick, or even armoured doors.

Because no answer came, Gillian laid the hand on the handle and pressed the door open.

The room behind it had a black carpet, a modern desk with glass top and massive red leather armchairs.

Because this was so deeply underground there were no windows, but the lighting was right cleverly, so that an indirect cosy light illuminated the room as if daylight came from somewhere.

A slender, highly rising person stood in the room.

Gannen Harst turned round to her.

The Vampaneze carried, as usual, a long black cape, and his hook nose and grey temples gave him a strict appearance.

He lifted an eyebrow. „Ah, Gillian. You are back."

„Yes. I am back", she answered weakly. „Had you doubted this?"

The old Vampaneze looked at her carefully. „By no means. You stand to your word, how I to mine."

Gillian sighed. „Yes. You have held word."

Harst laid his fingertips onto each other. „Then you have found the grave? Was it where I have told you?"

Gillian nodded.

He stepped forward: "And? Was it …. untouched?"

Gillian looked at him. "Yes".

Now Gannen Harst seemed very much excited: "Have you entered it?"

Gillian tightened her eyes. She was keen on his reaction: "Yes. I have."

The Vampaneze laid the folded hands to his lips, like in a silent prayer, the eyes far torn open. He looked at Gillian carefully from sharp falcon's eyes.

Gillian stood firm to his gaze.

Like two cats both confronted and stared at each other.

He cannot know what I have done, thought Gillian defiantly.

Harst looked away first.

He inhaled, and proceeded to the door. "I think, it is time to pay what is demanded."

Gillian answered nothing.

She took the heavy backpack of the shoulder and dropped it down on the carpet.

Gannen Harst left the room to get Steve Leonard, called "leopard".

The time had come.

Steve would tell Gillian what he required of her as a payback.

She swallowed her fear.


	12. Chapter 12: Whiskey

Chapter 12: "Whiskey"

Gillian had to admit that she was very nervous.  
She was afraid of what Steve would demand as a payback.  
She was afraid, of what she was capable to do.  
She was afraid to see him again.  
It was just a kiss Gillian, she scolded herself.  
He wanted to humiliate you.  
She ran her hands over her eyes, and then rubbed the scar on her left side, which had begun to ache suddenly.  
She felt sick, and she wished she had taken some blood before she came here.  
Restless, she ran up and down on the carpet.  
She caught herself checking her appearance in the reflection on the shiny glass top of the desk. She had not used any make up for weeks, and dark circles lay under her eyes. She looked exhausted, and on the edge of her strength.  
Shit, why do you care how you look like? Gillian scolded herself, and slumped down on one of the sofas.  
Her eyes fell on the backpack, and she thought about the bottle that was in it.  
Damn it, she thought, slid off the sofa, squatted in front of the backpack on the floor, and pulled on the latches.  
She pulled out the bottle of whiskey, which already did not contain much liquid any more, and unscrewed the lid off impatiently.  
She put the bottle to her lips and took a long sip.  
The whiskey spread warm in her stomach, and calmed her down immediately.  
Gillian sighed and leaned back against the sofa, still sitting on the floor.  
She closed her eyes for a moment.  
She longed to sleep.  
To sleep.  
In a large, comfy bed.  
Or a cushioned, tight coffin.  
When she opened her eyes, Steve was standing infront of her and looked down at her.  
She had not heard him enter.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.  
Gillian looked up at him defiantly. "After what's it look like?" She lifted the bottle and took another sip, just to provoke him.  
His brow wrinkled in angry and he grabbed the bottle out of her hand.  
"Hey," called Gillian.  
He took one look at the label, and then looked down at her coldly. "Whiskey, Gillian? I thought that was the preferred drink of your mother."  
He might just as well have slapped her. "Shut up," shouted Gillian. "I am not my mother!"  
"Then do not behave like her", he calmly replied.  
With the bottle in his hand he walked over to his desk.  
"You can`t tell me what to do," she hissed.  
He put the bottle on the glass plate.  
"Maybe not ..." he said. "But I can save you from doing a mistake."  
Gillian feebly slumped to the ground. She hat already committed far too many errors. A number of mistakes had lead her here.  
"You can`t protect me from anything," she whispered to herself.  
Steve leaned against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest.  
Gillian looked at him defiantly. "Come on. Out with it. What do you want me to do for you?"  
"Have you been successful then?" Steve asked.  
"You know that perfectly well," she hissed. "Otherwise I would not be here."  
"Then you have found the grave?"  
Gillian grimaced. "Yes, I have found it. It was intact. I entered it. And I have ... found what I was looking for. I think ... ,"she concluded reluctantly.  
"So I kept my word," Steve said proudly.  
Gillian laughed. "Gannen Harst has kept his word. But no matter. You want something from me. So out with it. What shall I do? "  
Steve was silent. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  
"Stop that, Steve. Do not behave as you have to think about, what you could ask for. You knew from the beginning what you want. So, say it at last. But I will not turn Darren Shan in to you. And I won`t do anything, that could do harm or hurt Larten Crepsley!"  
"Clearly," Steve said, wrinkling his nose. "Your cherished master is taboo."  
"Yes, he is," Gillian repeated firmly.  
"But you did not spare my master," Steve stated and squinted.  
Gillian snarled: "Murlough? May I remind you that he was the one who has attacked me first?"  
"He is your master, too," Steve said. "And you should be a little concerned about the fact that he's dead."  
Gillian laughed softly.  
"Name it, Steve." She looked up and looked him straight into his shimmering violet eyes. She sighed. "Shall I bring you to Vampire Mountain?"  
He shook his head.  
"Or inside?"  
Steve was silent.  
Gillian frowned. "I can do that, if you want to. I can get past the guards. Do you want that I kill someone?"  
Steve just looked at her.  
"Someone of the Princes?", said Gillian. "That won`t be an easy fight, I'll probably kick the bucket, but if you want me to try ..."  
Steve shook his head again.  
Gillian frowned, "So, what do you want?"  
Everything from Steve's snotty look was gone. He looked at Gillian, and seemingly embarrassed, he said:  
"Stay with me, Gillian."

"What?"  
"You heard me. I want you to stay. Here. With me."  
Open-mouthed she stared at him.  
And shook her head. "No ... I can`t ..."  
"Why not?" Steve open his crossed arms over his chest and pushed away from the table.  
"No ..." Gillian whispered.  
Steve went into a crouch beside her. "I ask nothing of you, what you cannot do."  
Gillian looked at him.  
He glanced at her openly and honestly. Like he really wanted her to stay.  
"Steve ..." she breathed tortured.  
"Where else can you go?" He asked quickly.  
Restless Gillian slipped away from him. She stood up.  
Steve also rose again.  
"The vampires have cast you out," he said relentlessly. "Where are you going to? Back to Cirque du Freak? You know that you can`t. They would track you down there immediately. "  
Tortured Gillian turned away. She didn`t want to hear it.  
But Steve continued: "And Larten Crepsley? To him, you can never go back again, without bringing him into trouble. They will also execute him, if they found out he hides you!"  
"Stop it ..." Gillian whispered weakly.  
"Stay. Here. With me," he said urgently.  
Gillian turned at the sound of his voice. The Vampaneze in the body of a teenager looked at her from haunting violet eyes. "With the Vampaneze you mean," she sneered. "I'm not one of you. I will not kill to feed myself."  
"Nobody demands that," said Steve. "You can do and be whatever you want. You are not my prisoner. You only should stay with me."  
Gillian chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip.  
What was his plan?  
Mr Tiny had said, that she should choose a side.  
Did he mean this?  
Wanted he, that she opted for Steve?  
But she would never opt for Steve, she was on the side of Larten Crepsley.  
Even if the side he was on did not want her.  
She guessed what Steve was about.  
If she stayed, she would get used to him. She would get used to the Vampaneze.  
She'd start to like him.  
Shit, she already liked him by now sometimes.  
How did he always manage to make her so vulnerable?  
Mr Tiny wanted her to choose a side.  
Perhaps it was just as well to get to know the other side?  
Since she would be on Lartens side anyway, it might be very good to stay with Steve to have just decided NOT to be on one side.  
If only she were not so damn tired.

Steve still looked at her.  
"Steve ... I can not decide, let me sleep over it, tomorrow I`ll ..."  
"No," he insisted. "I kept my part of the bargain. Now it's your turn!"  
Gillian swallowed.  
"I am not asking the impossible," he urged her. He stepped closer to her. A whiff of his scent wafted over to her. "I just want you to stay. By my side ... Please. "  
His words roared in Gillians ears.  
There was worse, he could have demanded.  
And Gillian actually knew not where she could go to otherwise.  
He was right: he wanted nothing that she could not do.  
Steve kept his word.  
Her hands were moist, and her heart beat excitedly as she said: "All right ..."

She took a deep breath.  
"I'm staying."

... to be continued  
The Vampires Student Part V: "The Lord of the Vampaneze"

COMING SOON


End file.
